Superbowl
by Michmak
Summary: The CSI’s get together to watch the Superbowl, and a fun conversation ensues.


Title:  Superbowl

Author: Michmak

Summary:  The CSI's get together to watch the Superbowl, and a fun conversation ensues.

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Although I wish they were.  At least give me Nick.

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"The only thing I like about this game is the uniforms," Catherine grinned, stepping over the low back of Nick's sofa and squeezing into the small space between Greg and Warrick.

Nick, sitting on the floor, back against the wall and a cold beer in his hand, grinned at her in amusement.  "You would!"

"I never really understood football myself," Sara muttered, reaching across Grissom to dip her nacho in some of the homemade salsa Nick had made earlier that afternoon.  He had smirked at her earlier when she had initially tasted it, face turning red and eyes watering fiercely as she gasped for water.  Now – several beers later and taste buds pleasantly dulled – she could dip to her hearts content.  And since Nick had so *conveniently* placed the bowl on the opposite side of the coffee table, where Sara had to crawl into Grissom's lap to even get to it, she had discovered she had a strange craving for it.

"What's there to understand?  There's a ball and men in tight pants." Catherine laughed.  "The men get to run from end to end of the big field and tackle each other into the dirt, in a display of testosterone-fuelled game play."

Greg started laughing, "Apt description."

"It's a great sport," Nick protested.

"Doth space the star quarterback of his high school football team."  Sara giggled.  Grissom shot her an odd look, and she smiled widely at him.  Nick started laughing.

"Have another beer, Sara."

"Perhaps you can answer this for me, Nicky," Catherine grinned at him, "Why is it okay for grown man to slap each other on the ass when they're playing football, but not any other time?"

Nick shrugged, "I have no idea.  You ever play football, Grissom?"

Grissom shook his head, "Nope.  And I can honestly say I never wanted to.  The thought of being tackled to the dirt by some guy twice my size never appealed to me too much.  I like watching it though, although I have to admit – I prefer Canadian Football."

"Canadian football?"  Greg repeated, "I suppose the players apologize after they tackle someone."

Warrick snorted, "I thought Canadians played hockey.  Why do you like Canadian football better, Grissom?"

Grissom leaned forward slightly, half-smiling, "It's just a faster game.  There are only three downs, the field is larger, and Canadians have bigger balls to play with."

Dead silence.  And than an eruption of laughter from everyone in the room.  The confused look on Grissom's face, followed by his sudden moment of _*Oh shit – what did I just say?*_ had Nick rolling on the floor.  Catherine, rather inelegantly, snorted half a Bloody Mary out her nose.

"Dammit, Grissom," she finally managed to get out, "I'll never get the Clamato stains out of this silk blouse.  Could you warn me next time?"

"What other *interesting* facts about Canadian football do you have floating around in that brain of yours, Grissom?"  Sara asked, trying to keep her face perfectly serious, and failing to do so when Catherine flashed her a wicked grin.

Grissom sighed, "Apparently, I'm the only adult here."

"I have a question Grissom," Greg interrupted, "If the Canadians have bigger balls, does that mean they have tighter pants?"

"Why do you want to know, Greg?" Grissom shot back.

Nick started laughing again, "Yeah, Greg – why do you want to know?"

Warrick shook his head, "We're missing the game."

"Who cares – this is more entertaining!" Catherine replied.  "Grissom – isn't your mom Canadian?"

"Her mother was, yes.  What does that have to do with anything?"

"I was just wondering if perhaps you were bragging," Catherine giggled.  Grissom ignored her, and tried to ignore Sara as she practically crawled over him in search of more salsa.

"Nick – we need more dip!"

Nick hopped to his feet, "Coming right up, Iron Gut.  You are gonna be so paying for eating all that tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah-" Sara muttered.  "You're the one that made it.  If it makes me sick, I'll know who to blame."

"Yeah, me," Greg griped, "because I always get blamed for everything."

"You did ask me to make my Seven-Mile Island Salsa," Nick teased, "and you provided the peppers."

Greg rolled his eyes, "See what I mean."

"Anyone want another beer while I'm up?" Nick asked.

"Just remember, Sara's the only one who doesn't have to work tonight," Grissom added.

"Killjoy," Catherine muttered, "I guess that means no more Bloody Mary's for me Nick."

"I'll have another beer!" Sara spoke up.  "Need something to wash down that salsa."

"I still don't understand why Sara gets Superbowl Sunday off when she doesn't even like football," Nick griped good-naturedly.

"Hey, I like football," she retorted, "Tight pants, remember?"

Nick rolled his eyes. 

"If you ask me, there aren't enough men in tight pants in this city," Catherine interjected.  

"Tight pants are uncomfortable," Grissom muttered, to no one in particular.

"How would you know, Grissom?  You can't be speaking from personal experience."  Sara took a sip of the beer Nick had just handed her.  Grissom cocked an eyebrow at her, but it was Warrick who spoke up.

"You trying to check out Grissom's ass…ets, Sara?  Why do you care how tight – or not – his pants are?"

"I don't care," Sara shrugged, and tried not to blush when Warrick grinned at her, "I just think clothes should fit properly, that's all."

"Your pants are a little voluminous," Catherine inserted.  "That murder we investigated last week – the rave murder in the desert?  It was so windy, and the material on your pants so excessive, I thought you were going to fly like a kite."

Grissom frowned, and picked at the leg of his pants, "They're not that bad."

"You could make another pair of pants out of the excess material in the legs alone, Grissom!" Sara snorted.

"They are pretty loose, man," Greg agreed, "You really should update your image - maybe some leather – or some suede."

"The day I start taking sartorial advice from you Greg -"

"Is the day you become hip," Greg finished.

Nick grinned, "Just don't let him introduce you to his barber, Griss."

Warrick grunted in amusement, "If you're looking at changing your image, you might want to let your hair go curly as well.  The natural look is always better."

Catherine cocked an eyebrow at Warrick, "You speaking from personal experience?"

Warrick shrugged, "I went through my fair share of hair-straightening horrors in the 80s.  I was part of the dipity-do generation, and I'm not too proud to admit that."

"Did you ever go through a Michael Jackson phase?" Greg asked, "The whole moon-walking, one-gloved Billie Jean thing?

Warrick just looked at Greg, "No – you ever go through a Duran Duran / Depeche Mode phase? Cause you look like you might have worn eyeliner as a teenager."

Greg grinned, "Actually, I was more a Psychedelic Furs fan.  Or The Damned.  _Grimly Fiendish_ – great song.  Oh – and The Smiths.  Let's not forget them."

"The Smiths!  Man, whatever happened to them?  _Girlfriend in a Coma was one of my favorite songs."_

Sara smirked at Nick, "Bullshit, country boy!  You forget, I've seen your CD collection."

"I only put the country stuff out front to keep people from borrowing.  Because people who borrow never seem to return, ahem, *Dixie Chicks* Sara," Nick coughed.  "And I'll have you know, I have all The Smiths on vinyl.  Is it half-time yet?"

"Soon enough," Greg grunted from his spot on the floor.  "Has anybody been watching?  Who'se winning?"

"The Bucs – but by what, I couldn't tell you," Nick answered, "I've been too busy running around getting beer and dip for Sidle here."

"One beer, Nicky!  One!  And I'm not the only one eating this dip."

"Yes you are," Catherine retorted, "It's too damn spicy for the rest of us.  Hey look, half-time!"

"Shania Twain – isn't she Canadian?"  Greg tossed over his shoulder at Grissom.  

Grissom shrugged, "Is she?  I have no idea."

"I thought you were an expert on Canada!"

"No – I just mentioned I liked their style of football better."

"She's Canadian," Nick affirmed, "And so is Celine Dion – she sang _God Bless America_ at the beginning of the game."

"Titanic lady!" Sara shuddered.  "She scares me."

"Didn't she just sign some big contract with Caesars Palace?" Catherine asked.

No one answered, and Catherine sighed, "What?  Am I invisible?"

"Welcome to my world," Greg grinned.  "Why do you want to know – you planning on catching a show?"

Catherine glared at him.

Silence for a few moments as everyone watched the half-time show.  

"Too bad Sting left the Police," Nick finally offered.  "I mean, I like his stuff, but the Police kicked ass."

"What was that song they did – the one with the teacher who has an affair with his student?" Greg asked, "'Cuz that was a great song."

"_Don't Stand So Close to Me,_"  Grissom responded.

Nick nudged Greg with his shoe when the younger man muttered under his breath at him, "Very apropos that Griss knows that one, don't you think?"

"I saw them perform at The Police Picnic in Toronto back in '83 – just before they broke up.  It was pretty good." Grissom offered.

Greg started laughing, "Two questions – 1 - what were you doing in Toronto, and 2 – you went to a rock concert?  This so doesn't jibe with my image of you."

"I was in Toronto for a forensics seminar, and Greg, I was young once.  I've been to a lot of concerts."

"Who else?"  Nick was curious.  

"U2, Peter Gabriel, Neil Young – Pink Floyd."

"No way! You saw Floyd?"  Warrick was duly impressed.

Grissom nodded, "Saw them in LA, when they were promoting The Wall – 1980.  Great show."

"Wow.  I guess, at one point in your life, you _were_ hip.  There's hope for you yet, Grissom,"  Greg teased.

Warrick shook his head, "Greggo, don't you think before you speak?"

"Grissom knows I'm just joking, right Griss?  Griss?"

Grissom sighed, "Ever since I told you you were the master of your domain, you've been impossible to deal with."  He looked annoyed when, once again, everyone started laughing.  "What?  What did I say now?"

"You ever watch Seinfeld, Griss?" Nick managed to wheeze out.

When Grissom just looked at him blankly, Nick grinned.  "No? Well, someone else will have to fill you in – but you were better off talking about big balls and Canadian Football."

Silence, punctuated by snickers.  Grissom sighed, and decided to take Nick's word for it.  "Did I mention that the Canadian Football League, at one time, had two teams named the Roughriders?"

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Author's Note:  Fluff, fluff, fluff.  I know it.  But I really needed to write it – it's been brewing in my head for weeks now, I tell ya.  Weeks!  Hope it wasn't too silly.  As always, all reviews and constructive criticisms are welcome.


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